The Second H. Beam Piper Omnibus

by H. Beam Piper

  "Well, I guess this is where we start crawling,” Yetsko said. “Your father's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gang in the conveyor tunnel."

  One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they could reach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyor belts ahead of him was stopped, apparently wedged.

  Yetsko stood for a moment, grimacing in an effort to reach a decision.

  "I'd like to just go forward and hit them from behind,” he said. “But I don't know how many of them there are, and we'd have to be careful, shooting into them, that we didn't shoot up your father's gang, beyond them. I wish—"

  "Well, let's go through the conduit, then,” Ray said. “We can slide down a branch conduit that runs a power line into the basement. I'll go ahead; everybody at the store knows me, and they don't know you. They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend."

  Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behind him and the others following. At the next conduit port, they could hear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At the next one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, in the tunnel. With the flashlight Yetsko had passed forward to him, Ray could see that the dust on the concrete floor of the three-foot by three-foot passage between and under the power and telephone cables was undisturbed.

  A little farther on, there was an opening on the left, and a power cable branched off downward, at a sharp angle, overhead. Ray was able to turn about and get his feet in front of him; Yetsko had to crawl on until he had passed it, and then back into it after Ray had entered. Bracing one foot on either side, Ray inched his way down the forty-degree slope, hoping that the two hundred pound weight of Doug Yetsko wouldn't start sliding upon him.

  Ahead, he could hear voices. He drew his hands and feet away from the sides of the branch conduit and let himself slip, landing in a heap in the electricians’ shop, above the furnace rooms. Two men, who had been working at a bench, trying to assemble a mass of equipment into a radio, whirled, snatching weapons. Ray knew both of them-Sam Jacobowitz and George Nyman, who serviced the store's communications equipment. They both stared at him, swearing in amazement.

  "All right, Doug!” Ray called out. “We're in! Bring the gang down!"

  * * * *

  Frank Cardon and Ralph Prestonby were waiting at the freight-elevator door when it opened and Russell Latterman emerged, a rifle slung over one shoulder. Cardon stepped forward and took the rifle from him.

  "Come on over here, Russ,” he said. “And don't do anything reckless."

  They led him to one side. Latterman looked from one to the other apprehensively, licking his lips.

  "It's all right; we're not going to hurt you, Russ,” Cardon assured him. “We just want a few facts. Beside rigging that business with Bayne, and almost killing Chet Pelton, and forcing Claire to blow her cover, how much did you have to do with this business?"

  "And who put you up to it?” Prestonby wanted to know. “My guess is Joyner and Graves. Am I right?"

  "Graves,” Latterman said. “Joyner didn't have anything to do with it; didn't know anything about it. He's in charge of the Retail Merchandising section, and any action like this would be unethical, since Pelton's is a client of the Retail Merchandising section. All Graves told me to do was fix up a situation, using my own judgment, that would provoke a Literate strike and force either Claire or Frank here to betray Literacy. But I had no idea that it would involve a riot like this. If I had, I'd have stood on Literates’ ethics and refused to have any part in it."

  "That's about how I thought it would be,” Cardon nodded. “Graves probably was informed by Literates with the Independent-Conservatives that this riot was planned; he wanted to get our people out of the store. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't present at the extemporary meeting that reversed Bayne's action in calling the strike.” He handed the rifle back to Latterman. “I just took this in case you might get excited, before I could explain. And you can forget about the Graves-Joyner opposition to Pelton. We had a meeting, right after noon. Lancedale gained the upper hand; Joyner and Graves are co-operating, now; the plan is to support Pelton and get on the inside of the socialized Literacy program, when it's enacted."

  "I still think that's a suicidal policy,” Latterman said. “But not as suicidal as splitting the Fraternities and trying to follow two policies simultaneously. I wonder if I could put a call through to Literates’ Hall without some of these picture-readers overhearing me."

  "You've been out of touch, down in the cellar, Russ.” Prestonby told him. “Our telephone line's cut, and the radio is smashed.” He told Latterman about the rocket attack on the control tower, which also housed the store's telecast station. “So we're sandwiched, here; one gang has us blocked at the twelfth floor, and another gang's up on the roof, trying to get down at us from above, and we've no way to communicate with the outside. We can pick up the regular telecasts, but nobody outside seems to be paying much attention to us."

  "There's a lot of equipment down in the electricians’ shop,” Latterman said. “Maybe we could rig up a sending set that could contact one of the telecast stations outside."

  "That's an idea,” Prestonby said. “Let's see what we can do about it."

  They went into Pelton's office. The store owner was still lying motionless on his stretcher. Claire was fiddling with a telecast receiving set; she had just tuned out a lecture on Home Beautifications and had gotten the mid-section of a serial in which three couples were somewhat confused over just who was married to whom.

  "Nobody seems to realize what's happening to us!” she said, turning the knob again. Then she froze, as Elliot C. Mongery-this time sponsored by Parc, the Miracle Cleanser-appeared on the screen.

  "...And it seems that the attack on Chester Pelton has picked up new complications; somebody seems determined to wipe out the whole Pelton family, because, only ten minutes ago, some twenty armed men invaded the Mineola High School, where Pelton's fifteen-year-old son, Raymond, is a student, and forced their way to the office of Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, in an attempt to kidnap young Pelton. Neither Literate Prestonby, the principal, nor the Pelton boy, who was supposed to be in his office, could be found. The raiders were put to flight by the presence of mind of Literate Martha B. Collins, who pressed the button which turned in the fire alarm, filling the halls with a mob of students. The interlopers fled in panic after being set upon and almost mobbed—"

  Prestonby looked worried. “I left Ray in my office, with Doug Yetsko,” he said. “I can't understand—"

  "Maybe Yetsko got a tip that they were coming and got Ray out of the school,” Cardon suggested. “I hope he took him home.” He caught himself just in time to avoid mentioning the platoon of Literates’ guards at the Pelton home, which he was not supposed to know about. “Don't worry, Claire; if anything'd happened to Ray, Mongery'd have been screaming about it to high heaven. That's what he's paid to do."

  "Well, I'll stake my life on it; if anybody tried to do anything to Ray while Yetsko was with him, you'd have heard about it,” Prestonby said. “It'd have been a bigger battle than this one."

  "...Can't seem to find out anything about what's going on at Pelton's store,” Mongery continued. “Telephone and radio communication seems to be broken, and, although there is continuous firing going on inside the building, the city police, who have a cordon completely around it, say that the situation in the store is well in hand. Considering Chester Pelton's attacks on the city administration and particularly the police department, I leave to your imagination what they mean by that. We do know that a large body of unidentified plug-uglies whom Police Inspector Cassidy claims are ‘special officers’ are holding the conveyor line into the store at the downtown Manhattan terminal, and nobody seems to know what's going on at the other end—"

  "They have the sections of both belts at the store entrance end wedged,” Latterman said, coming up at the moment. �
�Coccozello has a barricade thrown up across the store end of the tunnel, and they have a barricade about fifty yards down the tunnel. That's where I was fighting when you called me up."

  "Anything being done about gold-berging up a radio sending-set?” Prestonby asked.

  "Yes. I just called Coccozello,” Latterman said. “Fortunately, the inter-department telephone is still working. He's put a couple of men to work, and thinks he may have a set in operation in about half an hour."

  "...And if, as I much fear, Chester Pelton has been murdered, then I advise all listening to me to go to the polls tomorrow and vote the straight Anarchist ticket. If we've got to have anarchy in this country, let's have anarchy for all, and not just for Grant Hamilton and his political adherents!” Mongery was saying.

  * * * *

  There was a series of heavy explosions on the floor above. Everybody grabbed weapons and hurried outside, crowding onto the escalators. The floor above was a shambles, with bodies lying about, and the descending escalator was packed with white-robed attackers, who had apparently prepared for their charge by tossing down a number of heavy fragmentation bombs. Cardon had a burp gun, this time; he emptied the fifty-shot magazine into the hooded hoodlums who were coming down. Prestonby, beside him, had a heavy sono gun; he kept it trained on the head of the escalator and held the trigger back until it was empty, then slapped in a fresh clip of the small blank cartridges which produced the sound waves that were amplified and altered to stunning vibrations. Still, many of the attackers got through. More were dropping down the lift-platform shaft. Cardon's submachine-gun ceased firing, the action open on an empty clip. He dropped it and yanked the heavy pistol from his shoulder holster. Then, from the direction of the freight elevator, reinforcements arrived, headed by a huge man in the black leather of the Literates’ guard, who swung a three-foot length of fire hose with his right hand and fired a pistol with his left, and a boy in a black-and-red jacket who was letting off a burp gun in deliberate, parsimonious, bursts. It was a second or two before Cardon recognized them as Prestonby's bodyguard, Doug Yetsko, and Claire Pelton's brother Ray. There were four Literates’ guards and about a dozen boys with them, all firing with a variety of weapons.

  At the same time, others were arriving on the escalators from the floors below, firing as they came off-Slater's Literates’ guards, the Literates and their black-jacketed troopers of Hopkinson's store service crew, the fifteen survivors of the twenty riflemen from Macy & Gimbel's. The attackers turned and crowded onto the ascending escalator. Most of them got away, the casualties being carried up by the escalator. Doug Yetsko bounded forward and brought his fire hose down on the back of one invader's neck. Then, after a last spatter of upward-aimed shots from the defenders, there was silence.

  Cardon stepped forward and yanked the hood from the man whom Yetsko had knocked down, hoping that he had a stunned prisoner who could be interrogated. The man was dead, however, with a broken neck. For a moment, Cardon looked down at the heavy, brutal features of Joe West, the Illiterates’ Organization man. If Chester Pelton got out of this mess alive and won the election tomorrow, there was going to have to be a purge in the Radical-Socialist party, and something was going to have to be done about the Consolidated Organization of Illiterates. He turned to Yetsko.

  "You and your gang got here just in the nick of time,” he said. “How did you get into the store?"

  "Through the freight conveyor, into the basement."

  "But I thought those goons had both ends of that plugged."

  "They did,” Yetsko grinned. “But Ray Pelton took us in at the middle, and we crawled through a cable conduit to get around the gang at this end."

  Cardon looked around quickly, in search of Ray. The boy, having come out of the excitement of battle, was looking around at the litter of dead and wounded on the blood-splashed floor. His eyes widened, and he gulped. Then, carefully setting the safety of his burp gun and slinging it, he went over and leaned against the wall, and was sick.

  Prestonby, with Claire Pelton beside him, started toward the white-faced, retching boy. Yetsko put out a hamlike hand to stop them.

  "If the kid wants to be sick, let him be sick,” he said. “He's got a right to. I was sicker'n that, after my first fight. But he won't do that the next time."

  "There isn't going to be any next time!” Claire declared, with maternal protectiveness.

  "That's what you think, Miss Claire,” Yetsko told her. “That boy's gonna make a great storm trooper,” he declared. “Every bit as great as Captain Prestonby, here."

  Claire looked up at Prestonby almost worshipfully. “And I never knew anything about your being a fighting-man, till today,” she said. “Ralph, there's so much about you that I don't know."

  "There'll be plenty of time to find out, now, honey,” he told her.

  Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them.

  "Sorry to intrude on you two,” he said, “but we've got to figure on how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?” he asked Yetsko. “And take Mr. Pelton with us?"

  Yetsko frowned. “Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; it's only about a yard square. And we'd have to go up a ladder, and out a manhole, to get out of the conveyor tunnel. What sorta shape's Mr. Pelton in?"

  "He's under hypnotaine, completely unconscious,” Prestonby said.

  "Then we'd have to drag him,” Yetsko said. “Strap him up in a tarp, or load him into a sleeping bag, if we can get hold of one."

  "There are plenty, down in the warehouse,” Latterman interrupted, joining them. “And the warehouse is in our hands."

  "All right,” Cardon decided. “We'll take him out, now, and take him home. I have some men there who'll take care of him. We'll have to get you and Ray out, too,” he told Claire. “I think we'll take both of you to Literates’ Hall; you'll be absolutely safe there."

  "But the store,” Claire started to object. “And all these people who came here to help us—"

  "As soon as I have your father home, I'm going to start rounding up a gang to raise the siege,” Cardon said. “Radical-Socialist storm troops, and—” He grinned suddenly. “The insurance company; the one that has the store insured against riot! Why didn't I think of them before? They're losing money every second this thing goes on. It'll be worth their while to start doing something to stop it!"

  * * * *

  The trip out through the conduit was not so difficult, even with the encumbrance of the unconscious Chester Pelton, but Prestonby was convinced that, except for the giant strength of Doug Yetsko, it would have been nearly impossible. Ray Pelton, recovered from his after-battle nausea and steeled by responsibility, went first. Cardon crawled after him, followed by a couple of the boys. Then came Yetsko, dragging the sleeping bag in which Chester Pelton was packed like a mummy. Prestonby himself followed, pushing on his future father-in-law's feet, and Claire crawled behind, with the rest of Ray's schoolmates for a rearguard.

  They got past the battle which was still going on at the entrance to the store basement, letting Pelton down with a rope and carrying him onto the outward-bound belt. They left it in time to assemble under the ladder leading to the alley through which Ray said they had entered, and hauled Pelton up after them. Then, when they were all out in the open again, Ray ran up the alley and mounted a fire escape, and, in a few minutes, a big ‘copter truck which had been parked on the roof let down to them. Into this, Cardon ordered the unconscious senatorial candidate loaded, and the boys who had come with Ray.

  "I'll take him home, and then run the boys to the school,” he told Prestonby. “You and Ray and Claire get in this other ‘copter and go straight to Literates’ Hall.” He pointed up to the passenger vehicle which was hovering above, waiting for the truck to leave. “Go in the church way, and go straight to Lancedale's office. And here.” He scribbled an address and a phone number and a couple of names. “These men have my ‘copter at this address. Call them as soon as you get to
Literates’ Hall and have them take it at once to Pelton's home, on Long Island."

  Prestonby nodded and watched Cardon climb into the truck. The Literates’ guard who was driving lifted it up and began windmilling away toward the east. The passenger ‘copter, driven by another guard from the school, settled down. Putting Ray and Claire into it, he climbed in after them.

  "Ray,” he said, “how would you like to be a real white-smock Literate?"

  Ray's eyes opened. “You think I'm good enough?"

  "Good enough to be a novice, to start with. And I don't think you'll stay a novice long."

  Claire looked at him inquiringly, saying nothing.

  "You, too, honey,” he said. “Frank fixed it all up. You and Ray will be admitted to the Fraternities, this afternoon. And that will remove any objection to our being married."

  "But ... how about the Senator?” she asked.

  Prestonby shrugged. “It's all over the state now that you can read; there's nothing that you can do about it. And Frank has a lot of influence with him; he'll talk him around to where he'll be willing to make the best of it, in a week or so."

  * * * *

  Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the Literates’ guards officer broke the silence.

  "You didn't go out with the others."

  Latterman shook his head. “No, major; I'm an executive of Pelton's Purchasers’ Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the moment. My job's here. I'm afraid I'll have to lean pretty heavily on you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I'm not particularly used to combat."

  "You've been doing all right with that rifle,” Slater told him.